


survival

by TheOnlyHuman



Series: i'll tell you my sins, so you can sharpen your knives [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Gen, Good Parent Ivar Evil-Eye (The Witcher), Gorthur Gvaed, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, Ivar Evil-Eye is a Good Dad (The Witcher), Male Friendship, Nilfgaard, Poisoning, Responding to Injuries as the Active Responder, Tir Mountains, Unconsciousness, Viper School (The Witcher), Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyHuman/pseuds/TheOnlyHuman
Summary: Pietr, Lanir and Tarviel amuse themselves by traipsing around the forest beyond the Tir, they enjoy finding little birds and playing sneak games. What they do not enjoy is finding men bleeding out in said forest.Or: Jaskier makes it back to Gorthur Gvaed after the ambush with the Nilfgaardian soldiers. The kids find him.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Ivar Evil-Eye (The Witcher), Pietr & Tarviel & Lanir
Series: i'll tell you my sins, so you can sharpen your knives [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822972
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	survival

**Author's Note:**

> To fully understand this i suggest reading my part 1: pepparkakor first

The sun glinted high above the tree canopy, thin streaming wisps of light beaming through the thick foliage as animals rustled in the undergrowth and flies buzzed in the air. Tarviel lay on his favourite tree branch, head pillowed by his arms as he gazed over the bright green sheen of the forest. It really was beautiful, especially up at his height where he could see the stretch of trees much clearer and was spared from the wild swarming of mosquitoes down by the deadleaf on the floor.

Pietr and Lanir were down on the ground, Tarviel watching from a distance as they searched for him - well, searched being a broad word, seeing as Pietr was distracted by whistling at a mockingbird and Lanir was currently wriggling his fingers at a worm. But they had been playing; a final nostalgic game of sneak before they went off onto the Path for the first year. At first they'd been due to go out after Imbaelk but February had proven too soon and whilst Ivar had waved off the other witchers, he'd kept them behind, pleading more work needed to be done with them.

Tarviel wouldn't argue: for one, he liked his tongue, and two, he much rather preferred Belleteyn. The flower crowns were pretty and he couldn't wait to drag his brothers to a festival, to let them experience a good time before they really set off. Assured, Ivar wouldn't be hearing of their plans but soon they wouldn't need to worry about Ivar's iron grip; no longer would they be trainees, like the other, younger boys back in the keep. Soon they'd be true witchers and not just in name. Out on the Path, Tarviel and his brothers would fight the monsters that plagued the Continent, fighting back against the surging hoards of evil to protect those who needed protection.

"Tarviel!" Came a high-pitched shriek he knew all too well. Looking over in the direction his brothers had last been found a worm wriggling on the ground and a mockingbird but no brothers. Sighing, he swung his legs off the side of the branch, quickly shaking blood into them before he jumped down. The leaves crinkled under him, mud splashing up to his ankles for a second before he bounced out of the puddle he'd landed in.

He scented the air for his brothers, startling at the thrum of coppery blood not a mile off. Alarmed, he burst through the bushes, darting easily around the forest as he came upon his brothers, both crouched down by an unconscious man. Relief filled him as he found his brothers weren't injured before it came back tenfold at seeing the Viper witcher on the ground.

"What happened?" He asked, joining them as he peered down at the man. Pietr rose from feeling for a pulse on the man's neck, taking in the bloodied armour. The man's chestplate, in particular, was worrisome, seeing as there was a hole in it, showcasing bloodied linen underneath the leather. The man, with his long brown hair, was recognisable instantly, even if blood loss had made him pallid.

"We found him like this," Pietr stated. "We- well, _I_ tried shaking him awake but he's bleeding from his chest and hasn't woken."

"I can see that," Tarviel huffed, stepping forth. The man didn't even make note he was aware, no flickering eyelids or hitched breaths. His heartbeat sounded slow, even for a witcher, and his inhalations rattled with a cough brewing behind his exhalations. From how he'd ended up face-down on the forest floor, blade sheathed, limbs tucked tight, it was evident he'd tried to make it as far as possible before he'd capped out. A ball of anxiety formed in his stomach, squeezing down on his pelvis as he anchored himself through the h=murmur of nature around them and hunkered down mentally to try and help the witcher.

"He must be off worse if he's returned," Pietr added, making up for the stunned silence of Lanir. "It's been, what - three months since they left? For him to be back..."

"Should we call for Master Ivar?" Tarviel wondered aloud.

Pietr looked up to the sky. "Nah, it's heading into noon. He'll be in the library and won't hear us."

The wound peeking through his chestplate seemed to get worse, blood running down to stain the grass a dark red. Pietr looked at it and made a small sound.

"Might need to do something about that," Tarviel said, dropping quietly to his knees as he shucked his tunic to apply pressure to the wound. Upon doing so, he felt the muscle give way, blood instantly flushing through the cotton. Confused, he prodded and pulled at the man until his chest was off the ground and the exact same gash was made visible on his front.

"He's been run through with something," Pietr said, pulling his own tunic off to get on his knees and apply pressure to the man's front. Before firmly placing his shirt up against the dripping wound, Pietr squinted at it and pulled a face. "Looks like some sort of spear, it's too wide to have been a pitchfork or a sword."

"You both know who he is, right?" Lanir finally twitched to life.

"Yeah," Tarviel grunted, focussed on keeping up the grip on his entirely soaked make-do cloth. He was half sure this man was that quiet, scary witcher his brother had followed around for half the winter before Letho had came over and threatened him to fuck off or else. Lanir had said something about him being cool, called Yak - Yask - Yan - or something like that. Apparently he was good with his blade, having lost his second fang on some gruelling monster hunt.

"You'll have to work on your response time unless you want to be eaten by something," Pietr noted with a smirk, copying Tarviel's actions as they pressed down on the man's chest wound. The fact he didn't once stir was worrying.

"He- That's Jaskier!" Lanir spluttered, doing a funny dance as he hopped around in his outrage. "C'mon, _Jaskier_! What's he doing back?"

"He's hurt," Pietr said blandly. He spared the man an observing look and looked to Tarviel. "You think we should try move him?"

Tarviel mulled that over as Lanir started up another squeaking commentary. "I mean, really, if he was hurt he would've went to a healer. Why didn't he go to a healer? Elven ones are good, or so I heard from that old man Gerring! Why come here? Do you think he was being chased? Could he have been on a hunt near here? What if a monster stabbed him and he's poisoned?"

Pietr looked concerned at how his tunic had quickly flushed red as well. "He's not healing, so either this is new or you could be right about the poison. I can't smell anything but we should get him to Master Ivar as quick as possible. Lanir, come grab his legs and we'll hoist him up."

"Poisoned!" Huffed his brother, stomping around to grab the man's legs. As soon as he grabbed Jaskier's right leg - in an all too tight grip - the man under them seized, body shaking as he let out a guttural, pained roar.

Startled, Pietr and Tarviel were forced to crawl back as Lanir dropped Jaskier's leg and the man _screamed_ , eyes bursting open as he clawed at the ground, uncaring for the blood that mixed with his spittle as he writhed for a moment, eventually pulling his right leg under him. The limb was worryingly limp as the witcher curled himself around it, the bloodied tunics around his chest falling away as he dragged in a quaking lungful of air.

"Mister," Pietr tried, remaining right where he was, out of arm's reach, as he softened his voice. "Are you alright?"

Inwardly, Tarviel winced at the bad choice of words as Lanir did so aloud. The man looked up, hair falling around his face in a matted wreathe of blood and dirt. It framed his thin slitted pupils petrifyingly well, making clear how close to the edge he was.

"Viocar," Jaskier choked out, blood spilling down his lips as his sole fang unsheathed herself and hovered above her master's shoulder. Tarviel watched, awed, as the blade spun of its own accord, the witcher not even having to say anything. Maybe Lanir had been right when he'd said this guy was cool - of course, he was only cool when he wasn't threatening them with his fang. But even then, the intimidation factor this guy had, even whilst curled around himself and lying on the forest floor, was impressive. "Who-?" His gaze caught Lanir and something close to recognition rushed through his eyes.

Then he slumped, falling limp as his eyes fluttered shut. Unconscious. His fang remained active, though. Hostile as it darted quick circles around her master.

Tarviel spared the blade a look before realising he couldn't see it past the brief afterimage blur, with how fast it was darting around, and swallowed. "I'll run up to Ivar?" He started.

"Quickly," said Pietr as he clambered to his feet. Tarviel was sprinting away before the other boy had even finished. "Before he bleeds out!"

He'd never run so fast as he did that day, jumping over boulders as he fought to keep his momentum as he whirled down the trails. Tarviel was screaming, ragged and urgent, hollering repeatedly for Master Ivar, before he'd even breached the greeting courtyard.

"Tarviel," thundered Master Ivar, running out to meet him in the courtyard. He seemed to understand the need for urgency as Tarviel tugged him back up the trail, even as he gasped for air and kept the fast pace. "Boy, what's wrong?"

"Jas-" he sucked in a breath that burned the back of his throat, back to sprinting up the mountain. He could feel Master Ivar's sharp gaze on him as they levelled out, the man loitering at a pace he called idle to be debriefed. "Jaskier's in the forest. Bleeding out, gonna die-"

And suddenly there no longer was a man beside him. He caught the breeze as Master Ivar vanished, his gambeson's lapels flowing behind him as he skittered up the mountain. Tarviel stumbled to a stop, gasping.

"Poisoned," Master Ivar grunted, safe in the depths of Gorthur Gvaed's medbay. His eyes lingered on the thick bandages that were wrapped around his son's chest, looking down to his shattered right leg where bone had pierced through flesh multiple times. They'd administered the antidote but Ivar still couldn't believe what he was seeing. In the aftermath of a heart-wrenching experience, he allowed himself a breath, bending over the boy to press a chaste kiss to his pale, clammy forehead.

"It would've killed him had it been a day more," Haemar noted, busily grinding something in a pestle over at his desk in the shadowed corner. On the hearth bubbled a potion half-made "There's no way to know how long he's been afflicted by it but it's definitely been in his bloodstream for more than a week. I wouldn't dismiss the possibility of two, or more."

Jaskier had been attacked, ran through by what looked like a spear and had survived having his leg crushed. It must've been agony for the boy to drag himself back but he had, horse-less too, seeing the lack of his current mare Mistletoe. Although, looking at how the boy's broken leg hadn't been scratched (which ruled out a boulder or something falling on him), Ivar had a sinking feeling the horse was dead. He also had a sinking feeling as to whom had attacked him, though he had no proof until the boy awoke. (Now he just had to hope he did awaken.)

Well aware his son would be dead were it not for the three boys, he assured himself Jaskier was stable, and left him under the watchful eye of Haemar. The other witcher was currently brewing something to ensure his leg set properly, seeing how it had been shards of bone by the time they'd gotten to him. In the darker corner of his mind, he wondered how long the boy had been forced to travel for, what state had he been in and how had he justified coming back to Gvaed? It was a miracle the boys had found him in the Valley, an even bigger one that some sort of monster hadn't found him before they did.

The fact Viocar had been swirling around her master's body even with him being out cold was a soft comfort that pushed down the fear of his latter worry the tiniest bit.

He strode into the den, having followed the boys' scents to find them curled up in front of the fire, so much like how Jaskier had curled himself around his leg on the cold, damp forest floor, a pool of blood steadily growing around him as Lanir and Pietr watched on helplessly, kept at bay by the frantic fang spinning defensive circles. They didn't see him at first but Pietr smelt him and quickly elbowed the other two. Instantly, the three were on their feet, looking at him expectantly.

"Good job, boys," he said, walking around the furs they'd been lying on to clap each of them on the back. "Take pride, today you saved a man's life."

"Thank you, Master," they chorused, smiling at him. Feeling cold with his boy lying back in the medbay, laddened by a broken leg and haunted by a very close call, he turned to leave the warmth of the den behind.

Tarviel - brave Tarviel, only nineteen but set to go out on the Path in a week, brilliant Tarviel who'd made the call and sprinted up the mountainside shouting for him - spoke up, tone hesitant but hopeful. "Is he going to be alright, sir?"

"He'll recover," he said, because poison was always a waiting game but Jaskier had made it this far. His son was strong; he'd make it even if it killed Ivar. "All thanks to you three."

Ivar left them and returned to his son.

**A week later, Pietr, Tarviel and Lanir went off on the Path.**

**A month after that, Jaskier finally woke.**

**Five months after Jaskier had been found, on the nearing of Saovine, a traitorous Wolf witcher led the Army of Nilfgaard straight to their long-hunted prey. The lone survivor of the sacking of Gorthur Gvaed would swear War on Nilfgaard, quickly hurtling the Viper Witchering School into an age of conflict, bloodied fields and hard-earned justice with a new Grandmaster at its head.**

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to write this, I swear. it just happened.


End file.
